


Thermal Conduction

by Zinnith



Series: Entangled Particles [5]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alcohol, Disability, Entangled Particles, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Skiing, Snow and Ice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinnith/pseuds/Zinnith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It hits him out of the blue sometimes - all the things he can't do anymore.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Thermal Conduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_cephalopod](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the_cephalopod).



> the_cephalopod wanted EP-fic for fics4books and who am I to deny her anything? She also did the beta. (Yep, she did the beta on her own giftfic. That's how awesome she is.)

It hits him out of the blue sometimes – all the things he can't do anymore. Surprisingly, flying isn't what John misses the most, maybe because it's such a constant loss. Every single hour is an hour he can't spend in the air. In some ways it's almost comforting; the ache of the empty space where the sky should be is something that's always with him and always will be.

It's the other things that bother him. Things like living in California and not being able to surf. Things like working with kids and not being able to show off his cool skateboard tricks. Things like not being able to just jog up the stairs in his apartment building when the elevator's broken. Things he's always taken for granted, things people just do.

It's things like standing to the side of the beginner's run at Cypress Mountain and watching Caleb Miller teach his daughter how to ski. Madison is dressed in a bright pink ski outfit and spends more time rolling around in the snow than standing on her feet. She has snow all over her knees and butt and John has never seen a happier kid.

John used to love skiing.

It was the only interest he ever shared with his father, the only thing they could talk about without getting into an argument. John hadn't been much older than Madison is now when his father had come home with a pair of child-sized skis.

And now he's standing here, holding Madison's little backpack for her while she's tumbling around in the snow. John wraps his arms tightly around himself and stomps his feet in an attempt to warm up. It isn't that cold, but standing still for hours has turned John's feet into numb blocks of ice. To add to his misery, his leg is aching, which makes all his muscles tense up until _everything_ is aching.

He has no idea what he is doing here. He could've stayed behind and taken the opportunity to explore Vancouver on his own. Maybe gone to the movies. Even staying at the Millers' and just watching TV would've been better than this. Here he's surrounded on all sides by cheerful people high on holiday spirit. Everywhere he looks there are happy families, couples and friends, having fun together. John just wants to go home. Back to Sacramento where it's at least _warm_, and he won't feel quite so left out and useless.

Madison is standing again, swaying slightly on her feet, with Caleb is right behind her, keeping her upright.

"Uncle John!" she shouts, arms flailing wildly as she tries to keep her balance. "Look at me, I'm skiing!" Caleb's laugh chases her bright voice through the air.

John waves back at her. "Looking good, Maddie!" He is so very cold.

The lady who's standing beside him, watching what has to be her grandkids, turns and smiles at him. John politely returns the smile and then goes back to staring morosely into space. He knows he's being childish, but he also hangs on to his right to sulk.

He doesn't get to wallow in his self-pity for very long, however, because a couple of minutes later Madison almost crashes into him, her skies flying every which way. She seems to have gotten the hang of the actual skiing, but she still needs to work on the stopping.

"Whoa, take it easy there," John says, helping her up again.

Caleb comes swooshing down the slope and John knows he's not just showing off, but he still can't help but harbour a little resentment. It's just the beginner's run, for christ's sake.

"Isn't that Jeannie and Mer over there?" Caleb asks, pointing towards the lift queue. John turns to look and yes, it's them.

They are both a little out of breath, clearly having raced each other down the slopes. Rodney's ranting about stupid snowboarders and how they are a menace to innocent skiers and should have their right to exist revoked, but the bright grin on his face contradicts his words.

Madison throws herself at them, almost toppling them over. "Mommy, Uncle Mer, I skied and it was fun!"

Rodney's beaming, his cheeks are rosy from the chill and the colour clashes horribly with the bright orange fleece Jeannie got him for Christmas. His ski pants are soaked with melted snow, as is Jeannie's hair, and they're both radiating happiness like it's going out of fashion.

John's insides feel like they are being torn apart. That used to be _him_, in another lifetime, when he still had the full use of his body. His stupid, weak, crippled body.

"Are you guys having fun?" Rodney asks, pushing his goggles up. "You're not too cold are you?"

John really doesn't want to begrudge Rodney this day – god knows he's deserved it. He's been working himself into the ground all autumn, struggling with a collection of short stories that just wouldn't behave. When Jeannie called and invited the both of them up to Vancouver for Christmas and New Year, it seemed like the perfect distraction. John wants to be happy for Rodney, he really does, so he has no idea why he snaps, "My leg is held together by _metal_, Rodney. So yes, I'm cold. It shouldn't take a genius to figure that out."

He regrets the words even before they leave his mouth. Rodney's shoulders slump and the bright-eyed excitement fades from his face. John can't bring himself to meet Rodney's eyes, see the hurt and the disappointment there. He's a royal bastard, lower than the lowest creep and he doesn't deserve someone like Rodney.

"I..." Rodney begins, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater. "We... um. We could go back if you want. I mean, we paid for the whole day but... if you don't want to stay..."

No, John doesn't deserve him at all. He is ashamed by how easy it is for him to hurt Rodney – he knows exactly what to say, which sore spots to prod, to inflict the most damage. Even the smallest hint that he isn't completely happy will turn Rodney into a ball of guilt.

"No, it's okay," he says, trying to save the situation. It sounds hollow even to his own ears. "You shouldn't have your day ruined."

"Are you sure?" Rodney asks hopefully, doubtfully. It's very clear that he doesn't want to leave yet, and he shouldn't have to. Rodney only gets to see his sister a couple of times a year and they haven't had the chance to go skiing together since they were kids.

John forces a smile, does his best to make it seem natural. "Yeah. I think I'll go get a cup of coffee. Warm up a little. See you later."

"Okay," Rodney says slowly. "If you're really sure. Are you really sure?"

"I'm really sure," John assures him. "Go have fun, Rodney."

He's surprised that the last words don't sound as bitter as he feels, but Rodney appears to be at least half-way convinced. The McKay-Miller family returns to the slopes and John limps down to the lodge, mentally cursing the ice and the snow and his inability to enjoy it.

Once inside, sitting in a chair with a cup of coffee, he starts to feel marginally better. His toes are beginning to thaw out and he's not so obviously out of place here. He tries to relax, to push away that pounding ache in the bone of his leg. He knows his body is warming up, but it still feels like he's freezing.

"Excuse me, mister, is this seat taken?"

John looks up. The lady who's standing in front of him with a cup of coffee of her own appears to be in her seventies, with silver hair and dark brown eyes behind colourful glasses. The glasses, he notes, also has very large rhinestones on them.

"No, it's okay," he says, looking at the chair at the other side of the small table. There are other seats and he wonders why she's had to choose this one. John is so not in the mood for company.

The woman is clearly unaware of this, because she sinks down in the other chair with a contented little sigh. "Charlotte Duval," she says and reaches out her hand.

John shakes it, holding back a sigh. "John Sheppard."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sheppard. Are you here with your family?"

"My boyfriend's family, actually," he answers, hoping that'll shut her up and make her leave him alone.

Surprisingly, she doesn't react the way he expects – oh, right, Canada. Instead, she sips her coffee and smiles. "A little nippy outside, don't you think? Especially when you're standing still."

And now John recognises her as the lady who smiled at him earlier. Great. He's got his own personal stalker. "Yes," he agrees.

"I don't ski myself," Mrs. Duval continues, clearly completely unable to take the hint that John wants to be alone. "Never had the knees for it. But my husband did and he taught our son, so I got used to tag along."

"Oh," John says, putting as much disinterest as he can muster into the single word.

"Then my Gene passed away a couple of years ago. Heart attack – you never see it coming, do you? But our boy and his family keep coming here and I keep tagging along out of habit." Mrs. Duval laughs. "I can't stand the girl he's married, but I want to spend as much time as possible with my grandchildren. Never know how much time you got left, see? How about you, Mr. Sheppard, are you a skier?"

"No," John says. He's really not intending to encourage her, but for some reason he continues, "I used to be."

"That's what I thought," Mrs Duval crows triumphantly. "I was watching you out there, you know." A quick grin. "And I'm old so I don't have to be ashamed of that, I don't care what my horrid daughter-in-law says about the need to keep up appearances. There was something in your eyes, like you wanted to be up there yourself. Did you have an accident?"

"Crashed a chopper," John answers, unconsciously stretching out his bad leg. "Two years ago." He really has no idea why he's telling her this. It's none of her business and he just wants to sit here in peace until Rodney and the Millers are ready to leave.

"Oh dear, that's terrible!" Mrs. Duval reaches out her hand and puts it over John's in a gesture that's probably meant to be compassionate. Her skin has that old-person feel to it, soft and a little dry, and John wants to snatch his fingers away. He's never been comfortable with strangers touching him, especially not meddling old ladies...

Mrs. Duval removes her hand. "I know what you're thinking," she says with a wry grin and a twinkle in her eye. "I'm an old busybody and I should leave you alone. Well, tough luck, mister. Like I said, when you've reached my age you don't have the time to be concerned about what other people think about you anymore. You look like a man who could use some company and if you want me to leave you'll have to damn well carry me away."

John can't help but smile at that. Mrs. Duval smiles back, sips her coffee and wrinkles her nose. "I know what this coffee needs," she says resolutely.

"What?" John asks. A little bit against his will, he's beginning to like this lady.

"Jägermeister," Mrs Duval says with a grin. "Would you like one as well?"

John considers it for a while and then comes to the conclusion that it could hardly make things any worse. "Why not?" he says and reaches for his wallet.

Mrs Duval waves her hand to stop him. "Oh no, this one's on me," she says, and then continues with a wicked smile, "You can buy the next round."

~ * ~

"Actually," John says a little later, "I have no fucking clue what I'm doing here."

"Is that so?" Lottie responds, stirring more sugar into her black coffee. They went from 'Mrs. Duval and Mr. Sheppard' to 'Lottie and John' somewhere around the second Jägermeister.

"Yeah." John leans back into his chair. "I mean, sure, Rodney asked me if I wanted to come but I could've just said no. I'll never ski again and anyone can see I don't belong here."

By now, Lottie knows practically John's whole life-story. (Except for the most unpleasant details about Afghanistan, because no one gets to know them but Rodney.) She's surprisingly easy to talk to; John really hadn't planned on letting her know anything of importance, but before he knew it, he was sitting there telling her all about Rodney, about Sacramento and Rodney's books, about Newton and the kids at the youth centre.

In return, Lottie has told John about her late husband, Gene. About his love for jigsaw puzzles and fishing, and about how when he died she thought the world had ended. ("But then I kept waking up in the morning and the world was still there outside the window and I thought 'he wouldn't have wanted me to just give up.' So I got up, got dressed and went to the hairdresser, and then I decided to start volunteering for Greenpeace and you can imagine how well _that_ went over with my daughter-in-law.")

As a matter of fact, she reminds John a little bit of Rodney, or what Rodney might be like if he was a seventy-three-year-old woman. She speaks her mind and she speaks a _lot_, and John finds that he actually _likes_ talking to her.

"But that's not what's _really_ bothering you, is it?" Lottie asks, peering at him over the rim of her glasses.

"No," John sighs. "No, I guess not." He pauses. "I... I was... I guess I wasn't feeling too good about this whole thing so I... I sort of lashed out at him. Said something I didn't mean and now..." he takes a deep breath. "Now I'm beginning to think that he'd be better off without me."

Lottie snorts loudly. "Oh, pish-posh. Let me tell you this, as someone who was married for forty-six years. You say things you don't mean – it's no catastrophe. You just apologize, and if he really cares about you, he'll accept it. It doesn't have to be harder than that!"

John hesitates. "Well, when it comes to us... it sort of is."

He's well aware of why none of his previous relationships have ever lasted. Why, before Rodney, he never really _wanted_ any of his relationships to last. He's not good with emotions, was taught at an early age that they were his own business, that he shouldn't let them show. By the time he realised that maybe he had been taught wrong, he had made such a habit of bottling them up that it was too hard to just let them go. And he had never really met anyone who was worth making the effort for, until Rodney.

"Men!" Lottie exclaims. "Everything is always so needlessly complicated with you! Listen to me, John. You're human, both of you. Neither of you are perfect and you'll just have to live with that because it's not going to change. Now, here's what you need to do. You need to stop thinking about the things you've lost and start focusing of the things you _have_." She leans forward, pinning John with her deep brown gaze. "Life's far too short. You're still young, you have years ahead of you. So what if you're a little gimpy? Doesn't matter in the long run, because you're _here_ and not lying dead in an ice field in the middle of nowhere."

John is hit by a brief flash of anger – what right does she have to tell him what to do with his life? But he's not so much of an ass that he doesn't realise that she has a point.

"I guess," he mutters, thinking about Rodney with cheeks flushed red from the chill and excitement instead of ire, relaxed and enjoying himself, and yeah, maybe he _does_ know what he's doing here after all. He can't fly, surf, skateboard or ski anymore, but he's alive and he, hopefully, still has Rodney, and suddenly John realises that counts for _everything_.

John's so deep in thought that he almost doesn't notice when Lottie leans over, points, and asks, "Isn't that your boy over there?"

He looks up and that's Rodney all right, in his obnoxiously orange sweater, with his ski-goggles pushed up on his forehead and his thinning hair standing in every direction. John feels a smile rise to his face, possibly a bit sloppy and Jägermeister-induced, but he just had a little epiphany so he thinks he's entitled.

"Rodney!" he shouts and waves, and Rodney catches sight of them and comes over. He's changed out of his ski-boots, the key to the rental car is dangling from his fingers and he glares at the empty shot-glasses on the table.

"I turn my back for two minutes and you turn into an alcoholic?" Rodney says. He looks weary; the corners of his mouth are turned down, like he hasn't really been looking forward to seeing John. That's not acceptable, not at all.

"All my fault, Mr McKay," Lottie says, standing and holding out her hand. "I'm Charlotte Duval. John's told me all about you."

Rodney looks her up and down and gives her hand an unenthusiastic shake. "Oh, really? Pleasure, I'm sure." Then he turns to John. "Are you ready to go? Jeannie and Caleb have already left, Madison was tired and you know, _whiny_, so they wanted to get home. Also, Jeannie said something about toddy and it really is cold so unless you'd rather stay here with your new _friend_..."

John rolls his eyes at Lottie. He really did tell her all about Rodney so she can't be particularly surprised at his rudeness. "I'm ready to leave," he says, getting to his feet and putting on his jacket. "Lottie, really nice to talk to you. I hope everything works out with your daughter-in-law."

"That's not likely," Lottie grins, her eyes matching the rhinestones on her glasses. "But I'll survive. Now, will you think about what I said?"

"Already am," John answers with a smile, and then, before he gives himself time to think about it more closely, he leans over to give her a hug. She chuckles in response and pats his back.

"Take care, John. And write me, do you hear?"

"I will," John promises, intending to keep his word. He's got her e-mail address scribbled on a napkin in his pocket, and she's got his.

Rodney impatiently shifts his weight from one foot to the other and pointedly dangles the car-keys in front of John's face. "Hello? Waiting person here!"

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I'm coming." John finds it unexpectedly hard to leave, and it's not until Lottie pushes him towards the door that he finally gets his ass in gear and follows Rodney's retreating back.

"She is one cool lady," he tells Rodney on their way out, turning to wave at Lottie one last time.

"Yes, I'm sure she is," Rodney sighs. "Are you coming or not? I thought you _wanted_ to leave? Or have you suddenly changed your mind? Maybe you're now planning to elope with your new girlfriend?"

Okay, so Rodney's obviously in a bad mood and John doesn't blame him. If he knows Jeannie, she's probably already given Rodney a lecture on Sensitivity and How to Keep a Boyfriend. Not because any of it is Rodney's fault in any way, but because she's his sister and that's what sisters do. Still, Rodney doesn't react well to having his faults pointed out to him. John had planned to wait and talk to him when they got back to the city, but it seems like the right time and place is here and now.

"Hey," he says once they're outside in the parking lot. He waits for Rodney to stop and turn around. "Listen, about before. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said...what I said. You didn't deserve that."

At John's words, Rodney relaxes; his shoulders release their tension and it's like something heavy has broken loose inside him and completely drained away, leaving nothing but relief, exhaustion and a tiny hint of sadness. _He loves me, he really loves me_, John thinks, as if, for some reason, he hasn't really believed it before.

He crosses the short distance between them, moves into Rodney's arms and it feels so perfectly right. This is exactly where he's supposed to be, this is where he belongs.

"I wish I could give it all back to you," Rodney murmurs into his neck. "If there was a way to put your leg back together again..."

"There isn't," John answers. There's no use thinking about that, not when he knows it'll never happen, and the price of a leg is _nothing_ in comparison to Rodney.

"But if there was. You know I'd do anything."

John leans into Rodney's solid bulk, puts his head on Rodney's fuzzy orange shoulder and closes his eyes, revelling in the feeling of Rodney's arms around him. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I know."

It is as if Rodney has enough heat to warm the entire world; John isn't cold anymore.

\- fin -


End file.
